Three Days a Month
by RFLupin
Summary: What do a werewolf and a supermodel have in common? Three irrational days a month. AU, oneshot


**Title:** Three Days A Month

**Author:** Lady Dissent

**Rating:** PG-13

**Warnings:** subject matter and some foul language

**Characters:** Remus Lupin, OFC

**A/N:** Sort of AU, OOTP era I guess . . . After the start of the school term.

I stayed home sick today with a headache, sore throat, and a marathon-running nose, and had monster cramps from Hell on top of that. This is the result.

Three Days A Month

Remus Lupin was not known for his explosive temper. In fact, most people who knew him thought of him as a mellow and introspective person; the kind of guy you'd want around in a crisis. In short, he kept his cool.

Well, except for those three pesky days a month . . . When he was a full-fledged werewolf.

As he staggered up the walk to Number 12, Grimmauld Place, Lupin felt as though someone had just hit him dead-on with a sack of bricks. He was coming off the full-moon cycle, and couldn't have felt worse if he'd been thrown into the very gates of Hell.

He was just glad that there probably wouldn't be anyone home to see him like this. Well, Sirius might be home, but as he would be lurking upstairs somewhere, silently lamenting the children's return to school, Lupin didn't think he counted. His godson Harry Potter's presence at the Order's headquarters had brightened the man's mood noticeably, and he had retreated behind his familiar brooding mask ever since the four Weasley children, Hermione Granger, and Harry had gone back to Hogwarts. Lupin did have to admit he missed them a little, but he would rather be alone at a time like this.

As for the rest of the residents, Mr. Weasley and his son Bill would obviously be at work. They were hardly anywhere else nowadays, going in early and working hideous amounts of unpaid overtime. Bill's wife, a model named Pippa, had some sort of photo shoot today that she had been going on about for weeks, so it was safe to guess that's where she'd be. Mrs. Weasley had agreed to take Bill and Pippa's three children to Diagon Alley for the day, so that Pippa wouldn't have to have them underfoot at her shoot. Luckily, this was no imposition for the elder Mrs. Weasley, since she was the kind of grandmother that loved to dote on and spoil her son's children to a sickening degree.

Pushing open the door, Lupin dragged himself into the dingy hall, taking care to be as quiet as humanly possible. The last thing he wanted was to wake any of the portraits that were sleeping on the walls, even if that meant having to feel his way down the hall like a blind man to avoid turning on the lights. He managed to grope his way into the drawing room, and have every intention of simply passing out on the dusty, moldy sofa within.

The only problem was, there was already someone there.

Lupin thought at first that it was Sirius, but when whoever it was stirred, he was proven wrong. Slender arms arched over a messy brown tangle of hair, and when the figure turned to face him, he was met with soft brown eyes. It was Pippa, and she spoke first.

"Sorry," she mumbled groggily, rubbing sleep from her eyes. "I must've dozed off for a bit."

"'S all right," Lupin said, slowly coming to his senses. He hadn't expected Pippa to be home, and it was jarring to see her in her present condition. Whenever he'd seen her, she had been the epitome of high fashion, impeccably dressed and never a hair out of place. Being a model, Lupin figured it was her job to do so, but it was always a little disconcerting to be around someone so seemingly perfect, especially compared to his dreary, shabby self.

"I didn't think you'd be home," Lupin continued after an awkward silence. "Didn't you have a photo . . . thing?" He wasn't fluent with the jargon of the fashion industry, and felt it best to as non-specific as possible.

"I canceled," Pippa said shortly. She was curled up under about half a dozen blankets, and Lupin suspected she'd been there for more than a few hours. "I felt dreadful when I woke up, and didn't want to be around all those stuck up fatheads at the shoot."

"Oh," Lupin said. The sofa was looking more inviting by the second, even with Bill's completely off-limits wife perched on top of it. He was aching to flop down and sleep until the end of time, and it took every bit of restraint he had to keep from doing so.

Pippa, meanwhile, surveyed the room mildly, and said after a brief silence,

"You and I are in the same boat, I guess."

"I hardly think so," Lupin couldn't help saying. While he didn't dislike Pippa entirely, he certainly envied the easy life she had. Her ability to waltz through life without a care, her perpetual perfection, and all the people she knew who worshiped the ground she walked on; these things tallied up against her, and while he prided himself on being fair and unbiased about most things, Lupin had to admit things were always a little tainted when it came to her.

Pippa, though, disregarded the bite in Lupin's voice and said calmly,

"I think we are." She turned her eyes to him, took in his disheveled state, and then asked, "Do you want to sit down?" She gestured to the space beside her on the sofa.

"Yes," Lupin said, and he crossed the large room in two quick strides before sinking eagerly onto the cushions. Pippa offered him one of the many blankets she had festooned about herself, which Lupin accepted gratefully. He looked at her once he was comfortable, and said pointedly,

"I'm a werewolf, a creature reviled by millions, and you're a supermodel, worshiped by the masses. How, exactly, are we in the same boat?" Pippa smirked before replying,

"Well, as I'm a woman, and you're a werewolf, that means we both have three irrational days a month."

It took Lupin a few moments for this to sink in, and Pippa laughed at his expression afterwards.

"That's completely different," Lupin sputtered. He had been caught totally off guard by her comment.

"No it isn't," Pippa argued. "At least you have an excuse, though. People expect you to be hairy and cranky when that time comes for you; _I_ still have to be perfect, no matter how nasty I feel."

"What?" Lupin exclaimed. "That was completely unwarranted! Do you think I _enjoy_ being a werewolf? That I use it as an excuse to be rude and uncouth?"

"No," Pippa said. "But you've got to admit, people are less judgmental about it than with my condition." Lupin snorted quite uncharacteristically at this, but Pippa went on. "You could, hypothetically, snap at someone and blame it on being a werewolf, and no one would think anything of it. I, however, can't make a single off-handed comment without being called a bitch by everyone and their dog."

Lupin was at an utter loss for words.

"That is not true," he finally managed to articulate. "And when have I ever been, as you put it, 'nasty'?"

"You haven't," Pippa said. "For which, you have my eternal admiration. Seriously, if I was a werewolf, I would thoroughly abuse it as an excuse to be difficult and peevish. If I had a gold star, I give it to you for good behavior." She smiled at him, and Lupin couldn't think of anything to say.

"Just when I thought I had you figured out," he began finally. "You go and do this."

"Do what?" Pippa asked.

"Become human. Show higher thought processes. _Not_ be a complete and utter ass to, as you said, everyone and their dog." Pippa scowled, and said darkly,

"And just when I thought you were intelligent, you go and do that."

"Do what?" Lupin mimicked cheekily, knowing full well that the remark would probably cost him his life.

"Mess with a pissed off, chocolate deprived, PMS-ing woman."

The only reason Lupin survived this was because he managed to reach his wand before she did, and conjured a bar of chocolate before she could rip his face off. He offered it to her timidly, and as he watched her wolf it down, he began to understand her remark about their similarities. She looked at him once she was done, and regarded him critically.

"Maybe you're not so bad after all," she mumbled, and then, with her own wand, summoned one of her many romance novels. She buried her face in its pages, and Lupin looked away, rather disgusted by her comment and his own distaste for romance novels. He elected to sleep instead, and left Pippa to her reading.

When Mrs. Weasley came home some hours later, with the three rowdy children in tow, it was to a quiet and sleeping house. After putting the children down for their naps, she looked into the drawing room, and smirked at what she saw: Pippa and Lupin, both fast asleep, leaning on each other amidst a mammoth pile of blankets and crumpled chocolate wrappers.

"Honestly," Mrs. Weasley muttered as she closed the door behind her. "Three irrational days a month."


End file.
